


Under Indifferent Stars

by another_revolution



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:01:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_revolution/pseuds/another_revolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the wars between government troops and the 'volatile' regions began, emotional expression has been frowned upon. Most expressive art has been destroyed, but some dealers and rebels work under the law, selling remnants of earth's art to secret collectors. It's a dangerous game, with the top Government force -the Angel Guards- ordered to kill every dealer and accomplice they can find.<br/>When the Winchester brothers, desperate for work, take on an art dealer and her nameless companion as passengers, they may have brought more trouble onto their ship than they can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unemployment

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to apologize for the lack of recent updates -it's dance show week, and the first week of summer university classes, so I haven't been home much! I'll do my best to get two chapters up next week to make up for it. Thank you to everyone who has been reading this! I really appreciate it. ^_^

**\- 1 -**

Dean was filthy. His torn up pair of coveralls were tied at the waist and he lay hanging over the edge of the ship, nearly upside down in an attempt to fix a small panel over one of the engines that had come loose as they landed. His fingertips and knuckles were practically black after another afternoon of playing mechanic, his grey t-shirt covered in dark smudges and engine grease stains.

Dean was fairly tall and well built; broad shoulders, a sharp jaw line and defined cheekbones. His light brown hair was cut fairly short, and the hours spent under the sun doing repairs had given him a fine dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Dean frowned slightly as he worked, his green eyes guarded, his mouth a tight, straight line.

It wasn’t that he was angry, but the stress of the past few weeks was getting to him. Lately he had put a lot of time into repairing the ship. Maybe too much, but she needed it. So as much as Dean might want to be elsewhere right now, he had been spending his long, free afternoons alone, patching up the '67 Scouter ship. The ship was fairly small by government standards, but it was big enough to make a lot of work for one person.

Dean's younger brother, Sam, helped out where he could, but most of the time he conveniently found other odd jobs to do, leaving Dean to work by himself. He liked it, in a way. Sure, it was frustrating and stressful, trying to keep this baby in the sky when they were nearly flat broke and couldn't risk having a specialist mechanic on board, but they hadn't had a job in weeks and it was a good way for Dean to keep busy.

He tightened the last screw and shuffled back from the edge, flopping onto his back. The metal exterior of the ship burned against his shoulder blades as he lay there, breathing in the heat and dust. Dean closed his eyes, trying to shut out the claustrophobic feeling he got from the heavy, smoky sky. People said that hundreds of years ago, the sky used to be blue. Dean laughed to himself and, without opening his eyes, tried to imagine it. Why the hell would the sky be blue? The sky was grey, and space was black. Simple. Once you left the earth’s atmosphere behind you could be swallowed up by the dark. That darkness, punctured with indifferent, burning stars, meant isolation and safety. Dean’s frown fell back into place. The sooner they could leave the dust and smoke of earth behind, the better.

Sam shouldn't be far away now. Then Dean’s quiet afternoon would be over.

Dean knew that Sam was pretty much useless in the mechanics department, but he was smart and fast with a nearly photographic memory, so whenever they landed in a Red or Orange Region, Sam was sent on a mechanical scavenger hunt. Dean didn't know where or how Sam got most of the pieces, but he didn't really care. If that’s what it took to keep their baby in the air, that’s what they would do.

"Dean!" The voice drifted up to Dean. "Dean, get down here!" Dean groaned. Sam was back, enthusiasm intact. Maybe his brother had managed to get all the pieces needed. Maybe he managed to pick up some fruit, or coffee. That made Dean sit up. Any food that wasn't freeze dried would make landing in this dusty hole of a town worth it.

With a sigh, he shuffled back to the maintenance hatch and dropped down, ignoring the ladder completely. He met Sam at the door.

Dean was tall, but Sam made him look much shorter. Sam had been one lanky teenager, but he had grown into his long limbs. Now he was nearly as well muscled as Dean.  Sam had dark brown hair, much longer than his brother's. It fell across his eyes in a way that made Dean’s fingers itch to hack it short, but Sam never let him.

Sam could probably look intimidating if he tried, but right now he just sort of looked like a shaggy, happy, golden retriever puppy. He was wearing a grin that was completely disproportionate to the size of the duffel slung over his shoulder. Dean frowned. There was no way that half-empty bag held all of the ship replacement parts they needed, let alone fresh produce. So why was Sam so happy? Dean folded his arms and waited for him to start talking.

Sam didn't need any encouragement, he looked like he would burst if he couldn't share his news right away. "Dean," he exclaimed, eyes glinting, grin wide. "I think we've got a job."

Dean's eyebrows lifted, looked like they would disappear into his golden-brown hair if they went any higher. A job sounded good, great even, but the way Sam phrased it made him doubtful.

"You think? What's wrong with it?"

Sam ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. In a few long strides he crossed to the edge of the door, dumped the duffel on the floor with a dull clank, punched in a code and flipped the switch to close the door. He looked over at Dean.

"It's complicated. Let's sit down."

 

        *     *     *

 

"I got a message from Bobby," Sam began, twisting open the cap of a beer. There may have been a shortage of fresh food, and you would probably have to sell your ship to get any decent coffee, but alcohol was easy to find.   
"He knows we haven't had much work lately, and, well, he likes us."

"What can I say" smirked Dean, rubbing at the dirt on his hands with an equally dirty rag. "I'm adorable."  
"Dean, come on" Sam rolled his eyes. "We're good at what we do, and Bobby needed someone good for this."

"Okay, I like a challenge. Want to share what 'this' is?" Dean gave up on cleaning his hands and tossed the rag into a corner of the room. Sam moved to sit down across the table from Dean, frowning, trying to gauge his brother’s mood before explaining.

"He wanted to know if we would take on a passenger."

"For how long?"

"He didn't say, so I guess indefinitely. But they can pay." Sam took a swig of his drink, eyes wary, never leaving Dean.

Dean leaned in. "And the down side is?" There was a pause. Sam bit his lip, visibly tense.

"The passenger is an art dealer."

Dean stood up so fast it looked like he had been electrocuted, chair screeching against the floor as it skidded back. "Sammy, a _dealer_? No way. Why the hell would you even consider it? _No_."

"Dean," Sam coaxed, voice low and smooth, extending a hand towards him, making an offer. "Maybe we should think about it."  
"Think about what?" snapped Dean. "Carrying a _dealer_ around with us is like signing our own death warrant."

Sam rolled his eyes at that. "Yeah, because flying around in this falling-apart death-trap is so much better."  
"You could always help fix her up, Sam. I've been doing all the damn-"  
"Seriously, Dean? Even if I knew how, where the hell would we get the money? You know how badly we need a job, and now one's here you're not even going to look into it?"

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hated to admit it, but Sam had a point. If they turned this down, there was no telling how long they'd have to wait for other employment. Dean leaned forward, palms flat on the table, eyes tight, sarcasm twisting the corner of his mouth and colouring his tone. "Okay, then, Sammy. How do you propose we _look into it_?"

Sam fiddled with the bottle cap, spinning it between his fingers. "We could demand a trial period? Say two weeks? Then after that we can decide if we want to continue the contract."

Dean eased back into his chair. "That depends on whether we're really in a position to make demands. By the state of the ship right now, I'd say we're probably not."

"But this is a dealer, Dean. Other crews aren't exactly lining up to take one on board."  
"Because none of them are as stupid as us."  
"Is that a yes?"  
Dean stood up and started towards the door, shaking his head. He wanted a shower. Actually, he wanted more time to consider this, but he doubted Sam or their budget could wait very long. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ground, as though hoping if he looked hard enough the answer might appear on the floor.

Eventually he sighed. _What the hell._ "Go call Bobby, tell him we'll take this damn dealer on a two week trial," ordered Dean. Sam nodded, quietly triumphant. "And make sure he gives you all of the details: old files, past deals, government records. Don't want any surprises." Dean added. He shoved the door lever, which gave an unceremonious clank, followed by a hollow rattle. The door didn't move. It earned a frustrated kick from Dean in response. That was one more thing they didn't have the money to fix.

He knew how desperately they needed a job, he just hoped this one wouldn't get them killed.

 

 

 


	2. Deals

**\- 2 -**

"What do you mean 'no files'? This dealer exists, how can they have no records of anything?" Dean was angry, stomping around the room, yelling and gesturing wildly. Sam tensed, waiting for another spanner or boot to come flying towards him. Hadn’t Dean ever heard the saying _don’t shoot the messenger_? Admittedly, Sam had no idea where the saying came from, but surely it still applied. Actually, speaking of shooting, at least there weren't any firearms in this room. Bullets were harder to dodge than the objects that had already been thrown in Sam’s direction.

Sam tried to defend himself from his brother’s argument. "Dean, what else am I supposed to say? Bobby has nothing, just the name. And if Bobby couldn't dig up anything, this Sarah girl seriously doesn't want to be found."  
  
"And you're not worried about WHY she doesn't want to be found? What the hell is she running from?"  
Sam stood up. He was starting to get fed up with Dean's ranting.  
"Of course I'm worried about what she's hiding from, Dean, but at least she's smart enough to cover her tracks!" Sam yelled back, then flinched as Dean spun to face him, expecting his brother to throw something else at his head.  
  
But Dean didn't, just picked up on another concern, practically ignoring Sam's remark. "That's the other problem, why didn't they tell us earlier the dealer was a _chick_? It'll be even more suspicious. By the sounds of things, we shouldn't have anything to do with her!"  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and flopped back into his chair. "Dean-"  
"Then there's the companion she insists on bringing." Dean ploughed on, relentless. "We have _no_ idea who they are, where they stand, or what they might be hiding from. And how are we supposed to feed two more people? We don't even have enough food for the two of us!"  
  
Sam wanted the yelling match to stop, so he tried to stay calm and rational, drawing on his past experiences in Green regions, making his face blank before addressing his brother.  
"Dean, you know as well as I do, they're paying us enough to buy coffee for a month. You know we can't afford to back out of this. Anyway, if we leave now, we'll land at the Roadhouse in less than three hours.” Sam shook his head, voice rising slightly, urgent. “Just please, _pleas_ e try to be nice. It's only two weeks, and if you act like an asshole then everyone will know about it. You know how dealers talk."  
  
Dean glared over at Sam but didn't say a word, knowing –and hating- that his brother was right. For some stupid reason he agreed to do this job. Didn't mean he had to approve of the girl or her _companion_.  
  
The rest of the trip passed in silence.

     *     *     *  

"Ventral thrusters at forty percent, landing in approximately sixty seconds." Dean coaxed the ship to the empty dirt lot beside the Roadhouse, a rendezvous point and occasionally safe house for rebels fleeing the green areas or civil wars.  
  
It was also the meeting place arranged by Bobby. Ellen, the woman who ran the place, was trustworthy, and she would oversee the transaction. Where was she, anyway? Dean couldn't see anyone yet, but Ellen was always careful. She would be out once she knew it was clear, once she realised they weren't a government vehicle. But just in case, Sam was stationed down at the main cargo door, and he'd let Dean know if anything was wrong so that Dean could take off again as quickly as possible. If it came down to it, their fake government credentials could easily pass an initial inspection, and both brothers were armed with handguns and knives. For a moment Dean envied the dealer girl and her non-existent records. It would certainly make things a hell of a lot easier.  
  
"Three, two, one..." Dean's voice echoed through the old intercom, and the ship gave a shudder. "And we're down. Are the doors clear, Sammy?"  
"We're clear, Dean. And we've got a welcome party."  
Dean glanced out the side window. Sure enough, a trio had emerged from the warehouse and were standing in a triangle.  
  
In the front was Ellen, light brown hair swirling around her face in the wind from the engine. She held up her right hand, signalling the all clear. Dean presumed the two shadows flanking her were Sarah and her companion. The three people walked forward, and as the dust settled, Dean could make out the features of their soon-to-be passengers.  
  
To the right of Ellen stood Sarah, the young woman wearing a cropped, tan leather jacket, her dark hair in two loose plaits. In fact… Dean squinted. She looked _really_ young. Especially for a dealer. Couldn't have been more than twenty five. Dean frowned. Being young, she wouldn't have had much experience. If she didn't know what she was doing, she might be more trouble than the job was worth. But he and Sam were pretty young, too... Guess they'd just have to wait and see how it played out.  
  
On the other side of Ellen was their other passenger, a tall, pale man with messy, straight black hair falling into his eyes and a short, dark blue rag tied around his neck. It reminded Dean of a, _what was it called?_ A _cravat_ , from the old days. Sometimes men in the ancient illegal paintings wore them. Did that mean he was a dealer too? Somehow he didn't look the type.  
  
Dean cut power to the jets and met Sam at the cargo door. Sammy's expression was hard, lips pressed together, frowning slightly, trying to suppress all other emotions. Dean imagined his face looked about the same. This was going to be a tense few minutes; a lot was depending on this meeting going well, and going quickly. Dean and Sam looked at each other for a few seconds, exchanged a nod, and Sam opened the door.  
  
They walked down the ramp, matching each other step for step. The three people in front of them had completely blank faces, as was customary. They could only hope theirs bore some resemblance.  
  
Sam and Dean stopped in front of the little group and bowed their heads slightly, clasping their hands behind their backs. It was an emotionless, customary, polite greeting. The three opposite them did the same.  
  
"Ellen," Dean greeted her, suddenly dropping the mask and the polite pretences by smiling at her, causing the black-haired man to look slightly taken aback. "Dean" she grinned back, "Sam, good to see you both again. Come on in. What do you say we settle this over a beer?"

     *    *     *  
  
The small group entered the cool, dim bar room by a side door, and Ellen quickly ducked under the bar for the drinks. The Roadhouse was familiar to the brothers. The wall of empty liquor bottles, the low lights. The faded posters advertising new laws, drop points for old arts material, or the fake perfection of the green zones. Dean knew the posters were just a cover. No one who came here really paid any attention to them.  
  
Then there was the smell of dust and alcohol and leather, the wooden bar and tables that were worn smooth. There wasn't much wood around anymore. Most of the trees now were genetically enhanced and kept in isolated, controlled ecosystems, where the government harvested the oxygen to improve air quality in green zones, and tried to stop the trees from completely dying out. Because of all that, natural wood was rare. Dean thought it was a shame. He ran his fingers lightly over the bar surface, tracing the faint patterns that swirled like smoke trapped under the surface.  
  
He was broken out of his reverie by a small thump as Ellen sat a beer bottle down in front of him. Dean was extremely grateful for Ellen's presence, her relaxed but straightforward air, and he could see that Sam felt the same way.  
  
Actually, Sam seemed to be looking at the dealer a bit more than necessary, and not saying much, either. Dean looked at her. Long, dark brown hair, a sort of round face, and very determined, focused look in her brown eyes. She had a single beaded bracelet on her left wrist, and wore sturdy black boots, similar to the ones he and Sam wore. Practical, though her line of work was anything but. She was pretty, he concluded, but not really his type. Maybe Sammy would get lucky. He shrugged, turning his attention back to his cold beer and the deal at hand.

     *     *     *

Twenty minutes of arguing and bartering later, the five of them still hadn't reached an agreement. Dean had proposed the two week trial period, which hadn't made either of his potential passengers very happy. Sarah looked towards the dark haired man again, whose face remained completely calm. It was starting to make Dean uncomfortable. Who was he? With such perfectly masked emotions, he had to have been brought up in a green zone; under complete government control. And they were expected to let him on their ship?  
  
The man turned to look directly at Dean, taking part in the conversation for the first time, and Dean found himself caught off guard by the intense blue of the man's eyes. He blinked, trying to focus on what the man was saying.

"We stand by our proposition of six weeks trial, rather than two. It is a fair exchange. We are in need of transport, which you can provide. You are in need of work, and we can pay."

Dean was finding it difficult to concentrate on the man’s argument -he kept getting distracted by _how_ the man was saying it. Perfectly articulate, speaking slowly, almost cautiously, as though wanting to be completely sure he was saying it right, or he wanted to taste each word before he spoke.

Clearing his throat, Dean reached for his beer, focusing on the cold glass under his fingers. This was definitely not the right time to lose concentration. They had to get this deal closed.

They had been debating over every detail of the deal, and everyone was starting to get edgy. Originally they had insisted on twelve weeks. Six was a lot more reasonable. Dean glanced over at Sam. He looked slightly concerned, but Dean couldn't pick up any other emotion, so he guessed Sammy would survive with this six week agreement.  
  
Actually, from the way he looked at the Sarah girl, he would probably do more than survive. Dean chuckled, earning a 'what the hell' look from Sam, before he turned to the blank-faced man.  
  
"Fine, we'll settle on six weeks, with one condition." The dark haired man tilted his head slightly and squinted, and Dean stared at those bright blue eyes, hesitating for a moment at the man's perfectly straight jaw and slightly parted lips. Wait, what the hell? Why was he noticing lips at a time like this? He cleared his throat, focusing on the deal and looking at Sarah, doing his best to ignore the man.  
  
"If you do anything stupid, or more dangerous than necessary, that my brother or I believe puts our lives in danger, we will make sure you are off our ship the minute we find someplace to land. Are we clear?"  
  
"As a bell." The girl stood up, voice remaining calm though Dean caught a flash of annoyance in her eyes. "Where do we sign?"  
  
Sam produced the electronic tablet containing the contract, and both Sarah and her companion signed by scanning their fingerprints. Actual signatures stopped being used years ago. They could be forged or faked too easily.  
  
"Great" said Dean too enthusiastically, with a big fake smile. The man shifted uncomfortably at the outward show of emotion. Then Dean became serious, wrapping up business. “We take off in two hours, after we've refuelled and reloaded. Ellen will help you move your gear into the cargo hold. Sammy, a word?"  
  
Together they walked away from the others, to a darker corner of the room. "What?" Sam asked in a low voice, eyes still on the strangers -that were soon to be shipmates- leaving the Roadhouse.  
"Come on, Sam, you know what. Apart from already being in love with that dealer chick-"  
"What?" Sam's voice rose three octaves in one syllable. "I don't -"  
"But we can talk about that later." Dean interrupted, smirking, waving one hand dismissively. "What we need to do now is get to know our passengers a little better."

Sam nodded, understanding immediately. "Sure thing, I can run their prints as soon as we get back on the ship."  
"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Dean turned and headed for the door, calling a quick goodbye to Ellen.  
  
"Dean, hold up there a minute." Ellen waved for Dean to come over. After a brief glance over his shoulder, Dean walked back to her. She looked up at him, her brown eyes meeting green buried under a frown. "Dean, I know Bobby and I couldn't dig up anything on those two -hell, the guy wouldn't even give me his name- but I saw a tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. Pretty sure it was the government insignia. Far as I can tell the girl's clean, but Dean..." She shook her head and looked at the floor. "If he used to work for the government..." Ellen looked back up at Dean, serious and urgent. "I don't know if you can trust them."  
  
Dean started to interrupt; after all, Ellen had approved this job. But Ellen held up a small hand. "I know I told you to take them on, I just think you should be careful. Don't want you boys getting hurt, now."  
  
Dean sighed. "Look, Ellen, thanks for your concern, but Sam and I will be fine. Any funny business and they'll be back in the dust so fast it'll make their heads spin. So thanks for the heads up, but we can handle this." He turned for the door with a tight smile, wishing he could believe what he was saying. His eyes met briefly with Ellen’s level gaze. Seeing the doubt and concern there, Dean quickly looked away, nearly tripping in his haste to get out the door, throwing a mumbled “we'll call you later" over his shoulder. Sam trailed after Dean, closing the door after a nod and half smile in Ellen's direction.

Their two passengers were waiting in the ship's hold. Sam shook his head, wondering how he had gotten them into such a risky job. He went off to run their prints, leaving Dean to show them to their quarters. Even for them, this was going to be a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post chapter 3 in a couple of days, after exams are finished. I know the first two chapters are kind of slow, but things will start to speed up now. Hope you enjoy it, please let me know if you think I can improve anything!


	3. Bags and Bookshelves

**\- 3 -**

Two hours later Sam sat beside Dean at the main controls. The new passengers stood behind the brothers, wanting to watch their first take off but not quite sure what to do. Dean turned his head slightly, acknowledging their presence but saying nothing, completing the pre-flight tests in silence.  
  
Sam fidgeted as the silence stretched and grew awkward. Finally he turned around. After a nervous glance at the black haired man, he explained to Sarah, "We're just gonna fly a little way. Probably towards the Alpha cluster of the New Arizona province –it’ll only take a couple of hours.”

Sarah nodded but said nothing. Sam started rambling. “Then we’ll fall into orbit around one of the sub-planets, uh, the ones that aren’t inhabited, so that you guys can settle in properly and, um," Sam started fidgeting, "maybe we can, uh… get to know each other a bit." Sarah gave the smallest of smiles, barely a twitch, but it was enough. Sam grinned down at his hands.  
  
Dean started laughing, but abruptly hid it with a cough when Sam glared at him. He proceeded to look overly focused on taking off, pushing the jets a bit harder than necessary. Soon enough they had left the dirt and smog of the earth atmosphere behind in favour of the inky black of space.

After another ten minutes or so of tense silence, Dean cleared his throat.    
"Okay, so when we're in orbit Sammy here will help out Sarah" he threw a wink at Sam, who was looking the opposite of amused. Dean ignored him. "And I'll help out smiley over there." The dark haired man opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind and closed it again.

"Then maybe," smirked Dean, clearly enjoying his own sense of humour, "we'll all become best friends, and we can stay up all night talking and braiding Sam’s hair."

That earned him a hard kick in the shins. Dean winced and mouthed ' _ow_ ' at Sam, who just shook his head. They lapsed back into silence.

After a few minutes Dean shoved a hand under the control panel and pulled out an unnamed disc. He looked at it and shrugged, shoving it into their makeshift sound system. He and Sam had rigged it up just after their maiden voyage on the 67. It was another thing they couldn't afford to replace, but it did the job. Dean messed around with some buttons, until electric guitars exploded out of the speakers. Sam jumped at the sudden burst of sound.

Seconds later Sarah appeared beside Dean, arms folded tightly across her chest. She nodded at Dean. "AC/DC. Good choice. Thunderstruck, am I right?"

Dean did a double take. “You –what?” He stammered. Even though she was a dealer, he didn't think she'd know bands like that, let alone _like_ them. She just rolled her eyes. “It’s kind of my job.”

Dean nodded slowly. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.  
  
Sarah leaned forward, lips next to Dean’s ear, voice low, "as for the best friends part of the plan, give us a few days." She glanced over at Sam with a small smile. "They say that anything can happen in space." Then she turned on her heel and walked to the back of the room.

Dean grinned at Sam. "I think I'm starting to like her."  
  
  
     *     *     *  
  
After nearly an hour of flying, the only noise was the hum of the ship’s motor. The AC/DC cd had long since finished. Awkwardness practically radiated from each person, like repelling magnetic fields. No one really knew what to say. So no one said anything. Instead, they just looked out the window and tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore each other’s existence.

Sam sighed. _They had six weeks of this._  
  
He was sick of the tense silence. He wanted to talk to Sarah, but didn't know how to start. Sam had been going over different sentences in his head, each sounding worse than the one before.

Finally he took a deep breath and cleared his throat.  
  
"Hey, um, Sarah? Do you want to go to your room?"

Dean snickered and Sam blushed, stuttering, "oh no, I meant, oh god, no, wait, I just meant-" he took another breath and tried again, forcing his brain to put together a coherent sentence. "Sorry. Do you want me to show you around the ship, or show you where your room is, or… something?"

He looked up at Sarah to see that she was actually stifling laughter, fingers pressed to her lips. She lowered her hands and grinned outright at Sam. "Okay, Cassanova.” Sam blinked in surprise at the casual art reference, but stayed quiet. “I would love to unpack, if you wouldn't mind showing me to my room?"  
  
Sam smiled back and shook his head. "Yeah, okay, sorry, um... Yeah I'll show you. Let's go grab your bags from the hold." He quickly walked over to the panel that controlled the door, opening it for her. She stepped through. Sam was about to follow her, when-

"Hey, Sammy,"

Sam turned in response and Dean twisted in his chair, clearly amused by the exchange that had just taken place. "That was real smooth, Sam. Go get her" he laughed. Sam rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Dean" he muttered, stomping out of the door, pausing only to close it behind him.  
  
Neither of them said much as they walked along, each carrying some of Sarah's luggage. Occasionally Sam would say what was behind a door, or down a corridor, but otherwise it was a quiet trip. After a few minutes they reached Sarah's room. Sam's hands were full, but he nodded towards the second door down the hall. "That one's yours."  
  
Sarah put her hand on the panel beside the first door. "This one?" She asked.  
  
Sam shook his head. "No, the second..." He paused, suddenly thoughtful. "Hold on, maybe you could help with that..." he muttered.  
  
"Okay," replied Sarah. "I'll try to help out with whatever that is, but can I put my stuff down first?"  
  
Sam looked at her, apologetic. "Yeah, of course, sorry. It's that second one. You've got it? Okay, good." Sarah opened the door and stepped in, looked around briefly before crossing to the far side of the room and putting the bag she was carrying down on the double bed. Sam followed her and put the rest of her gear on the floor beside her. They stood for a moment, hands shoved in pockets, taking in the room around them.  
  
"Sorry it's not much..." Sam said quietly. Sarah shrugged. "It's nice. It's spacious. It's just a bit..." She looked around the bare walls. "Sparse." She finished.  
  
The walls, floor and ceiling were a washed-out grey. The furniture consisted of the bed, some shelves on the right hand wall, and small desk with a chair against the left wall. Beside the desk was a single door that led to a tiny bathroom. Sparse was an understatement. Sam wished they had more to offer than a barely furnished room, but they didn't make a habit of carrying passengers, and their budget didn't really allow for nice furniture. Or nice anything.  
  
But then she smiled. Sam stopped worrying and felt his mouth curve up in response. She kept talking, almost to herself, as she wandered around the room. "It's nice, just plain. But we can fix that. With some more colour, some more art, some more law breaking... I'm sure I can brighten things up." She turned back to Sam. "Now, what is it you wanted my help for?" Sam didn't say anything, just went back to the door, beckoning for Sarah to follow.  
  
Together they walked back to the first door. Sam put his hand to the door switch. He hesitated for a moment and glanced over his shoulder at Sarah, suddenly unsure.  
"Look..." He began tentatively. "We sometimes pick up stuff when we do jobs, and some of it we've been holding onto for years… We don't really know what to do with it. At least, not without getting caught."  
  
Sarah nodded, expression blank. "So you've got some stolen goods you need sold or shifted. That's kind of my job, Sam."  
  
Sam flashed an awkward smile at the floor. "I just thought maybe you would know if any of it was worth anything, or what we could do with it if we can't get a price for them."  
Sarah nodded, but didn't say anything else. She just put her hands in her pockets and waited for Sam to open the door. Sam quickly turned and hit the door switch, then walked in without looking back, knowing that Sarah would follow.  
  
The room wasn't very big, maybe five square metres, and Sam could easily touch the ceiling. But every wall was covered with metal shelves, crudely made by Dean and himself, that were about half filled with books, discs, tapes and records. Even a few small paintings. In the centre of the room sat stacks of boxes, with hastily scribbled descriptions on the sides.  
  
When Sarah walked in, her eyes lit up. As a kid, Sam had never understood why emotion was considered rude. It wasn't technically illegal or anything, not like art… It was just frowned upon. Considered disrespectful. By now, of course, he had learned about both sides of the argument. About world war three. About the government’s reasons behind the laws. Still, at that moment, when Sarah's whole face shone with joy and excitement, he wished people showed emotion more freely. People looked so much nicer when they were happy.  
  
Especially Sarah.  
  
There was a twist in Sam's stomach, and he realised he was staring. Thankfully Sarah didn't seem to notice. She was running her fingers along the spines of some books on a lower shelf. Pulling out a couple of volumes, she started flicking through pages.  
  
Once she pulled out the seventh book, Sam couldn't wait anymore. Quietly, he asked, "so, are they worth anything?"  
  
Sarah's eyes flicked over to Sam, and looked almost surprised to see him still standing there. She glanced down at the book in front of her, then back to Sam. "Oh," she began, starting to put the books back. "We'll, it's not exactly a priceless collection, but some of it is pretty good. You could make some money on this. If you're sure you want to sell it, that is."  
  
Sam nodded slowly and ran a hand through his hair, pushing the long strands out of his eyes. He and Dean had been meaning to get rid of this material for a long time, but didn't know how to go about it or what sort of prices they could ask for. They had to sell this stuff. It was just too dangerous keeping it on board. Most of the time the sentence for owning or carrying “openly expressive material” was five to ten years jail time. But if you were a known rebel, or carrying a _dealer_ , well... People disappeared. Sam doubted he and Dean would get away with just jail time. If they were caught, it seemed more likely that they would just disappear too.

The contents of this room was directly associated with their survival. It had to go.

Sarah walked a complete circle around the room, ending in front of Sam. She looked up at him. "You know, when you said you had a bit of stolen stuff in here, I thought you meant a box or two. This," she gestured towards the rough, half-empty shelves. "This is a lot, especially for someone who isn't even a dealer."  
  
Sam blinked a couple of times, confused. He didn't consider this to be a lot. He had read most of the books in the room, he had organised the shelves and labelled the boxes as best he could. But he had heard stories of museums and art galleries. Libraries full of novels and fairy tales, not just school textbooks or picture-less newspapers. By comparison, this was nothing. Maybe there were less dealers and collectors out there than they thought.  
  
He tried to explain as much to Sarah. "Really? I didn't think we had very much. I mean, I know we have more than most ships, but compared to people on planets... Anyway, I've only sorted through about half of it, the rest-"  
"There's more?" Sarah interrupted, incredulous.  
"Yeah," Sam spoke hesitantly. "It... it's not organised yet, but I don't really... I mean, you're the expert... It's all piled up in the other room..."  
Sarah shook her head, looking at Sam like he was crazy. She took a deep breath and composed her features, clasping her hands in front of her.  
  
"Well, Sam, it seems we have a bit of sorting to do."

She took a few small steps towards the door, as though reluctant to leave. "I think we should start tomorrow. Right now, I’m going to unpack. I'll talk to you later."

Sam quickly followed her out the door, calling after her, asking her to wait a minute. She turned around to face him, one hand on the door switch to her room. "Sarah..." He began, not quite sure how to say what he needed to know without offending her. "You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"  
  
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Sam, I've heard all the rumours. Apparently dealers can't keep their mouths shut. But just because we have a fast communication network doesn't mean that we're all liars and back stabbers who only care about money." Her eyes softened slightly, and she opened her door. "Dealers care about art, Sam. And I care about staying alive. So trust me, or don't trust me, but right now gossiping about this would just be dangerous for everyone. Until I can prove to you that I can be trusted, that's just gonna have to be enough." And she was gone, the door sliding closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Procrastination has won out over study and produced another chapter. Hope you enjoy it.


	4. Knives

**\- 4 -**

Dean wandered down the upper starboard corridor. He had safely swung the ship into orbit around the ninth sub-planet in the New Arizona province. None of the sub-planets in the province had retained their terraforming, leaving them uninhabitable and unnamed. Apart from numbers, that is. It meant they’d be relatively safe for a while. Dean had then turned the ship to autopilot, and now he was set on finding out the dark haired-man's name.

There were three bedrooms in each of the port and starboard upper corridors. Sam and Dean had the biggest, at the back of each side of the ship. Both the dark-haired man and Sarah had been given the very next rooms, Sarah next to Sam, the man next to Dean. It wasn't out of generosity that they had been given the second biggest rooms, and in such close quarters, but the smallest rooms were full of various books, records, CDs and art. Dean hoped with a dealer on board they could find somewhere vaguely safe to get rid of them.

Dean reached the man's door, pounded on it a couple of times, and waited. "Yes?" Came the reply. Dean shrugged -figuring that meant he could come in- and opened the door.

"Hey, finding your way okay?"

The man turned to face him. "Yes, thank you, Dean." Dean ran a hand through his hair and looked around the room, taking a few steps forward. The door slid closed behind him.  
"Uh, no problem" he muttered.

Dean stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of how to ask. It was a bit late for regular introductions - _seriously, was he supposed to say ‘hi, I met you hours ago and we’re kinda living together now, so what’s your name?’_ He decided to pull the captain card. He squared his shoulders. "Actually, I do have a problem. See, I let you on my ship. And, well, you know my name. Think I could know your name now, since I'm officially your captain?"

The man didn't answer right away, just walked over to the small wardrobe and carefully placed a spare pair of boots inside.

There was something shining on the bed. Still waiting for the man to reply, Dean walked over, and let out a low whistle. The man had been sorting through a huge collection of knives and blades. _This guy could be a good asset_ , Dean thought to himself, _as long as he’s not with the government_. If he was a government supporter, it would mean a major shit storm on the horizon.

Turning, he found the man watching him in silence. Dean crossed his arms and shuffled his feet, waiting for the man to answer his question. That unblinking, blue-eyed gaze made him uncomfortable. Dean was letting this him stay on his ship for six weeks. He knew he had a right to know the guy's name, but his insides were squirming.

The man walked straight towards Dean, stopping mere inches away.

"My name is Castiel."

"Castiel?" Dean took a couple of steps back, uncomfortable with how close they were, quickly scrabbling for something to say to make their proximity less awkward. "Well, uh, Castiel, nice toy collection you've got there." Dean nodded towards the weapons arranged on the bed. "Where'd you get them all?"

"Around" said Castiel dismissively, turning to look at them, then picking up a slim, straight, pointed blade, a little over a foot long and balancing it in his hand. "I think this one is my favourite." He brought it up to his face, inspecting the silver edge closely.  
  
As he lifted the sleek blade, the sleeve of his black leather jacket hitched up and Dean glimpsed a black tattoo on the inside of his wrist. The outline of an eye, with a lightning bolt down the centre. Dean’s heart sped up. The government insignia. Just like Ellen had said.  
"Nice ink" he commented, face as blank as he could manage. Castiel turned to him, confusion scribbled faintly in his blue eyes. He looked distant, like he was only vaguely interested. _Definitely from a green area_. No rebel Dean knew could stay so separate from their emotions. None would want to.

Dean silently pointed towards Castiel's wrist, and Castiel peered down at the black design as though noticing it for the first time. "You brought up green?" Dean asked, tone harsh.

"In a way," Castiel began, still calm. "I was brought up in a... A facility, of sorts." There was a pause as Castiel put the silver blade back on the bed. Dean stepped closer. "You wanna tell me what sort of facility you mean?"

"It is not of import." Castiel turned back to his two bags on the floor. Dean didn't want to push him too far; a man with that many weapons would be a dangerous enemy. Instead he watched as Castiel picked up a belt laden with loops and clips, presumably for the knives, and moved to the closet to hang it up. "Remind me never to get on your bad side." Dean remarked lightly, trying to keep things friendly. The man turned slightly, grabbed the empty duffel bag and tossed it into the closet.

"I shall mention that when such a time arises."

Dean shook his head, openly staring at Castiel, utterly confused by the man's lack of humour. Or any emotion, for that matter. This went way past just being polite. He was like a freaking rock.

Castiel didn't even seem to notice -simply continued unpacking his meagre amount of belongings- so Dean moved to the bed and sat down beside a collection of three small, straight daggers. His eyes roved over the expanse of metal blades meticulously lined up on the blanket. There were a couple of jagged edged knives engraved in some language Dean had never seen before. Further over lay something that looked like a narrow machete. There was even a small sword.

He reached out and picked up the silver blade Castiel liked. It was heavier than it looked, cold and unforgiving in his palm, but Dean had to admit that it was a nice weapon. It was well balanced, perfectly symmetrical, and could probably do a lot of damage. As he gave the weapon a small experimental swing, he realised again that this Castiel guy was not someone to mess with. Yet he was on this ship. Dean still wasn't convinced that it was a good idea, but it was a small comfort to know that he and Sam could turn their passengers out on their asses if things got too dangerous. Dean didn’t want it to come to that, but at least it was an option. Then they could run and hide, just about disappear. He and his brother were good at that.

Dean turned the silver blade over in his hands. The shape was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

Pushing that thought away, Dean decided to try and pick up the conversation. There had to be something that this guy wanted to talk about. Still looking at the blade, he coughed.

"So, Castiel, why do you like sharp things so much? Why not guns?"

Castiel was suddenly so close that Dean almost dropped the blade he was holding.

"They're quieter" Castiel replied, eyes on his favourite weapon. He was so close that Dean could pick out the few freckles on his nose, see the shadow of stubble on his dead-straight jaw. Hell, if he came much closer Dean thought he could count his eyelashes. Then Castiel looked up, blue eyes cool, emotionless. "They don't run out of ammunition, either" he continued, carefully lifting the shining blade from Dean's grasp and placing it back on the bed.

"But you can't use them over long distances" Dean challenged.

"Yes, I can" Castiel replied, voice low as he reached toward one of the three small, straight-edged daggers. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, then spun around and flicked out his arm, sending the blade flying across the room where it landed with a dull thud, embedded in the door.

"Whoa, WHOA, don't throw knives at my baby!" Dean yelled, running over to the door and yanking the blade out. He ran his fingers over the hole, then spun around to glare at Castiel. "What the hell was that for? You could have just _told_ me, you know, with _words_. You didn't have to make a hole in my ship!"

Castiel walked over, face calm as always. He lowered his eyes for a moment. "My apologies" he muttered, voice low. "I will fix it."

"You better" growled Dean, flipping the knife in his hand to hold the blade, offering the handle out to Castiel, who took it and went to place it back on the bed.

As Dean tried to calm down, a question popped into his head. "Where are you gonna keep those, anyway?" Castiel looked over his shoulder at Dean and shrugged.

"I do not know yet."

Dean scratched his head. "We might have a spare shelf or something in the armoury -Sam and I don't really have many sharp toys. Well, not as many as you. I could have a look and maybe being one up for you, if you want?"

Castiel nodded, and Dean could swear he saw a ghost of a smile, just the slightest curve of the man's lips as he replied, "thank you, Dean, I would like that very much."

"Okay then" Dean shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "Guess I'll see you in a bit. Just shout if you need anything." Castiel nodded, and Dean stood there for a few seconds longer, struggling to make sense of the man with the blue eyes, blue scarf, and extensive knife collection. He tried to shrug off the thought that he was missing some sort of vital link. There were a million other things to think about and work on in the meantime.

Dean slipped out of the room, already occupied with different concerns and things that needed doing. He had six weeks to find out about Castiel, so he pushed the speculative thoughts to the back of his mind as the door shut behind him with a clank.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Study break! Enjoy.  
> Quick disclaimer: these characters are not my creations, they are those of Supernatural by Eric Kripke.   
> The story line, however, I can claim.


	5. Missing Links and Missing Shirts

**\- 5 -**

The missing link came to Dean a lot faster than he expected.

They had been in the air for exactly eight days. Sarah had found a small water colour painting of a couple of little brown birds among their boxed stolen art. She said they were sparrows, really common a few hundred years back.

Dean didn’t care what they were called. He would be happy to have one less illegal item on their ship. So they were planning a quiet sale to a relatively small-scale collector in a Red region town. It was a simple transaction, due to take place in two days' time.

Sarah turned out to be smart, resourceful, and a practical planner, who seemed knowledgeable and –despite Dean’s early doubts- actually pretty experienced. On the other hand, Castiel proved to have very useful government knowledge, telling them what their best cover would be and what might give them away, how to spot an undercover government worker, and the best method of escape if something went wrong.

That evening Dean had a few questions for Castiel regarding some finer points of their cover story, so he knocked on his door. "Castiel?" He called. "Cas, you in there?" There was no reply, but the door wasn't bolted, so Dean opened it. Just to check.

"Cas? You busy?"

Still no reply. Dean took a few steps inside and heard the shower in the small adjoining bathroom shut off. He considered just leaving, but the noise of the door opening and closing as he left would have made Castiel suspicious, so Dean decided to call out again.

"Cas? Sorry to interrupt -I'll come back later."

At that moment the adjoining bathroom door opened and there stood Castiel, hair still wet, wearing his usual black combat trousers. But… Dean blinked, then frowned. He was barefoot. And shirtless.

"Oh. Um. Sorry to interrupt, Cas, I... I'll let you get back to your… uh... I'll come back later." Dean stammered, gesturing in the general direction of the door.

"No need, Dean. What is it you want?" Castiel's voice was low, but emotionless as ever. Dean hesitated, then wandered to the middle of the room.

"I just wanted to go over some things..." Dean’s eyes unintentionally began to rove over Castiel's naked chest. Over his collarbone, past the softly defined muscles of his abdomen, to the hard, curved shadows of his hips, where his pants were slung just a little bit too low...

Dean promptly forgot what he was saying as a rather pressing matter of his own arose.

"What things, Dean?"  
The bright green eyes snapped back up to Castiel's.  
"Uhh" Dean blinked and shook his head, then rubbed his eyes, trying to catch the trailing end of whatever he was saying before he was distracted by the tanned hipbones in front of him. He cleared his throat, and spoke quickly. "About our cover credentials for the sale."

Castiel nodded, and turned slightly to pick up his jacket from on the small desk beside him, intending to find the digital file in one of the pockets.

As he turned, Dean watched the way Castiel moved. From the tendons in his hand that shifted as his fingers moved deftly over the worn leather pockets, to the identical government tattoos on the pale undersides of his wrists. Up the straight, tense forearm, muscles taut under smooth skin, to the softer curves of his upper arm. The rounded shoulder scattered with droplets of water fallen from still-dripping hair. The faint shadows that picked out defined muscles tensing around his shoulder blades.

With a faint smile that had something to do with the hazy feeling building up in the back of his mind, Dean thought a shirtless Cas was definitely something he could get used to. Then he caught a glimpse of some fine black lines etched into the skin of the other man's upper back.

Dean froze, his stomach feeling like it had dropped through the floor.

The haze in Dean’s head cleared too quickly, leaving him scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. Knowing he should do something, but feeling slightly stunned at the harsh image in front of him. Suddenly all the pieces were flying together with a sickening clarity, colliding behind his eyes, making his heart race. The lack of emotion. The tattoos. The ‘facility’. The strangely familiar shape of his favourite blade. The name, _Castiel._ Dean fought to quiet his uneven breathing, survival instincts kicking in.

While Castiel was focused on his jacket, Dean swiftly covered the few paces to the notched shelf where Castiel's weapons now hung and grabbed one of the short, jagged daggers, weighing it in his hand, ready to use it if he needed to. He wished he hadn't left his gun in his quarters. The shelf shook slightly as Dean picked up the knife, and the soft rattle caused the other man to look up.

Castiel’s eyes flicked from the shelf of weapons, to Dean’s face, then down to the knife in his hand. As Castiel took in the situation, his whole body tensed, fists clenching, slipping into a slight crouch as though ready to run or fight. Dean watched as an emotion twisted and spread over the man’s face for the very first time.

It was anger, and it was terrifying.

Dean breathed slowly. His voice came out in a growl.

"Show me."

Castiel spoke quietly despite his obvious anger, sounding partly threatening and partly like a warning. "Dean-"

" _SHOW ME!_ "

Castiel nodded, eyes like ice, and slowly raised one hand, palm forward, proving he was unarmed. Then just as slowly, he held out his jacket, still glaring at Dean.  
"Drop it" Dean commanded. Obediently, Castiel dropped his jacket on the floor between them.   
"Hands above your head, turn around!" Barked Dean. Castiel did what he was told.

A mix of anger and dread churned in Dean’s stomach as he processed what he saw. Tattooed in black along Castiel's shoulder blades were two beautiful, detailed angel wings.

Dean felt sure of one thing. Shit storm was an understatement. Castiel was an Angel.

He and Sam were as good as dead.

 

 

 

 


	6. End of the Line

**\- 6 -**

An Angel. A dark-haired, blue-eyed, living, breathing Angel.

Guess that meant the rumours were true.

No one Dean knew of had ever seen an Angel -or seen one and survived- so most people nowadays just labelled their supposed existence as a rumour the government started to scare off rebels. They were the monsters that made children fear the dark, the threat that made adults obey the law.

Angels were said to be the ultimate government enforcers. Warriors of such strength and skill that some people believed they were a superhuman race. They were always silent, never left anything behind, except for the occasional body of a rebel or dealer. Just so that people like Sam and Dean knew what would happen if they got caught.

But Castiel was an Angel. They were real. And now Dean was going to die.

One thing was certain: he didn’t want to go down without a fight.

Gripping the knife tightly in his hand, Dean ran forward. He landed a kick to the back of Castiel’s knee, making the man stumble. In that second of vulnerability Dean pulled Castiel’s arms back and twisted the man into a headlock, forcing him to his knees and pressing the knife against his throat.

Cas’ skin was still warm and damp from the shower, but Dean tried not to think about that.

“What the hell are you doing here, _Castiel?_ You think you can just walk onto my ship and kill me? Kill my _brother_?” Dean growled into Castiel’s ear. He pressed the knife harder into Cas’ neck. Castiel swallowed, and a single bead of blood rolled down the blade. “Well listen, pal, my brother and I ain’t easy targets.”

Castiel let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes you are, Dean.”

“What?”

Suddenly Castiel twisted free and before Dean could blink he was slammed into the wall, one arm twisted painfully behind his back, his other arm pinned to his side by an iron grip. The knife skidded out of reach. Castiel was a solid weight against Dean’s back, and he leaned forward, bringing his lips to Dean’s ear.

“You are an easy target, Dean,” Castiel snarled, “and if you and your brother had been assigned to me, you both would have been dead eight days ago.” Dean cried out as his arm was twisted even further. Castiel’s voice was practically a hiss. “Do not insult me. Never insult an Angel.” Then he was gone. Dean winced as the blood rushed back into his arm, and he slumped against the wall, feeling his heart and head pound in unison.

He turned slowly to see Castiel standing a few metres away, watching him with those cold blue eyes. Dean lifted his chin and tried to stand straight. “So why,” he muttered, “haven’t you killed me yet? Who is your _assignment_?”

In an instant Castiel’s expression switched from hostile to that of a lost child. His mouth fell open slightly, and his eyes shifted out of focus. He mumbled something, and Dean thought it sounded like _I don’t know._ Then he blinked, staring at Dean.

“I am no longer in active service.”

Dean frowned and stuttered. “Not in service? What the hell does that mean? You retired early, or get kicked out?” Dean tried to stay angry, but it was difficult when the ex-Angel looked so… vulnerable.

Castiel’s frown mirrored Dean’s. “I decided I no longer wanted to be one of the Angels.”

“Wait, you can just _decide_ not to be an Angel anymore?”

“Not without difficulty.”

“So you’re on the run?”

Castiel gestured slightly, a hopeless sort of half shrug as he scratched his hair. “Essentially, yes. It was no longer safe for me to stay.”

Dean took a few cautious steps forward, moving slowly, like approaching a wounded and defensive wild animal. Apparently he wasn’t on Cas’ hit list, but he still half expected Castiel to knock him out and make a run for it. He got the feeling Cas would do anything to stay alive.

Staying alive. What was it Castiel was running from? Who or what had the power to chase an _Angel_ and make them afraid?

“What are you running from, Castiel? What are you dragging us into?”

Dismay tainted the edges of Castiel’s expression, before the man’s face went blank.

“I cannot say.”

“DAMN IT, CAS,” Dean bellowed. This had rapidly spiralled way out of Dean’s control. It was putting him and his brother an inch away from the firing line. A dealer and a rogue Angel on their ship… Dean stumbled around the word _Angel_ in his head _,_ still trying to comprehend how they could be real. And here.

And he was just supposed to take this man who claimed to be an Angel at his word? Alarm bells were going off in Dean’s head. No, screw alarm bells, he could just about hear the sirens wailing.

But the other man had signed a contract.

“Castiel… You can’t stay.” Dean tried to compose himself. He could panic and figure out what to do later, once he was by himself. Right now, he had to hold it together.

“This –you- have put me and Sam in way too much danger. I want you off my ship the moment this deal is through.”

Though Castiel’s face remained blank, he nodded slowly. Dean took the motion as his assent and didn’t waste a minute in escaping, practically running out the door. He could feel the blue eyes staring at the back of his head, following him until he rounded the corner.

The man -no longer an Angel- was left standing in the middle of the room, alone.


	7. Suits and Sales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. Since I'm working and dancing more often now, I'm going to try and get one chapter out each week. Thanks for reading this far!

**\- 7 -**

Sam was sitting with Sarah at the table when Castiel walked in, Dean trailing behind him.

“I have to go.” Cas said matter-of-factly. Sarah looked shocked. Sam was confused. He thought it had all been going pretty well. “Why, Castiel? What’s happened?”

“Nothing has happened, Sam, there is just some business elsewhere that I need to deal with. I will be getting off the ship at our next port.” Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

“That was weird,” Sam muttered, more to himself than anyone else.   
“Mmm,” Sarah made a noise of assent but didn’t seem to be paying attention to him. She was looking straight at Dean, who was glaring back at her. Sarah opened her mouth to say something, but Dean shook his head slightly and she closed it. _What just happened?_ Sam wondered, pushing his hair out of his eyes. _What the hell did I miss?_

He shot a questioning look at Dean, who just glared back at him before walking out the door after Cas.

     *     *     *

Two days later, as they prepped for their sale, Castiel packed his bags. While the boys donned their best suits and Sarah pinned up her hair, Castiel slipped away without saying goodbye. Dean alone watched as the black-coated figure disappeared into the shadows. Something twisted uncomfortably in his gut, and he tried to shut it out. It was simple. Either Castiel left, or he and Sam died. At least, that’s what Dean was trying to convince himself.

Castiel’s exit caused even more of a rift between Sarah and Dean –not that they had gotten on very well before. They hardly said a word to each other since Cas announced that he was leaving, and though Sam desperately tried to get them to at least be civilised, their near-hostility was starting to be a problem.

The sale was happening at an invite-only black tie event that evening. Apparently the government believed it to be a small commemoration of the death of a family member. Deaths were always taken very seriously, even if by ‘seriously’ it actually meant a little twisted. In green zones, commemoration services were some of the biggest black tie events of the season. Other, more emotional old-world celebrations like birthdays or Christmas were of less importance. Christmas was a public holiday. Birthdays were a quiet day to spend with family. Sam figured that once the emotional colour drained out of the ‘civilised’ areas, it must have made sense to accentuate the sombre, black and white events to cover up the old festivities, bury them like old embarrassing photos.

The dozen or so people gathering at the ‘commemoration’ that night would smuggle their art in as gifts for the grieving family. A box labelled as food, or coffee, or perhaps blankets. While it was in a red area -under minimal government watch- it was still risky. Even more so now, since Dean and Sarah weren’t talking to each other. Sam knew it had something to do with Castiel leaving, but neither of them would tell him what. He worried about it constantly. It was essential that they worked together on this, or there would be trouble.

When started to get dark, Sam went to wait by the main cargo door. Sarah was already there, and Sam couldn’t help but marvel at how utterly beautiful she looked. He quickly forgot his concern when he realized he would have something entirely different to worry about that night.

Sarah was wearing a long, black, backless dress, her hair piled in curls on top of her head, and Sam could see the delicate shadows of each vertebrae down Sarah’s spine, from her neck to her waist. Her eyes were bright, her lips painted dark red. Sam pulled the edge of his jacket slightly lower with a nervous twitch, then smoothed back his hair, trying to focus on something else. Anything else. Anything other than kissing his way down her back, twisting his fingers into her hair. No, anything but that.

Sarah turned and smiled at Sam. He forced out a tight smile and fidgeted awkwardly. When Sarah laughed he tried his best to ignore the way the sound made his heart speed up, brought the blood to his cheeks. And, well, other places. _God, think of anything else, Sam,_ he thought to himself, running another nervous hand through his hair. _We’ve got a job to do._

After far too long Dean arrived at the door, wearing his black suit and a huge frown.

“I hate these damn things” he muttered, pulling at his collar. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

     *     *     *

The building was grey and square, nearly every surface metal or polished glass. It looked basically identical to every other structure on earth. The glass panels took on a red tinge from the sky, which was the colour of rust as the last rays of daylight caught in the smoky atmosphere.

A blank-faced man in a suit stood by the door. He inclined his head slightly towards the box Sarah carried.   
“Gifts for the bereaved?” He asked.  
She tilted her head in response and replied quietly “We are sorry for their loss.”  
The agreed phrase, word for word. Sam licked his lips, concern twisting his gut once more. But the doorman punched in a key code and the silver door slid open.

As they walked in, Sam caught the man at the door running his eyes down Sarah’s back. He clenched his teeth, ready to intervene if the man tried to so much as speak to her. A hand grabbed at his sleeve. Dean. “Cool it, Sammy,” he muttered. “She’s fine.” Sam took a deep breath, sucking in the cold, synthesised air inside the building, trying to calm down. He knew Dean was right. All the same, this was going to be a long night.

Inside, the place was almost completely white, the rooms brightly lit and incredibly bare. Sarah led Sam and Dean to the back of the entrance hall, through a doorway to their left, and into a small room filled with about a dozen people. Everyone was wearing black and holding a drink. At the far wall was a small alcove, containing several boxes of various sizes. That was where they were headed.

Sarah walked calmly across the white floor to another man who stood by the alcove. His face was just as devoid of expression as the man at the door. It was making Sam uncomfortable, but Sarah was perfectly composed. She handed over her small box, and was handed an envelope in return. She passed it to Dean, who tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. Just as planned. So far the night was running smoothly.

Now for the hard part. They had to stay around for a suitable amount of time, in order to stick with their cover story of a commemoration gathering. Dean muttered something about going to get a drink and wandered off, leaving Sam with Sarah, standing practically against the wall, avoiding people’s eyes. Neither of them really wanted to go and talk to the other people who filled the room. Sam gazed at the wall and wished he had gone to get a drink with Dean.

As the light outside faded, each window and glass panel became a mirror. You couldn’t see anything past the constantly-moving reflections of the people in the room, yet it seemed likely that anyone outside could easily see in. It put Sam on edge. It felt… wrong. Well, wrong apart from the law-breaking, art-dealing side. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it; maybe it was just all the expressionless people. He turned to look at them more closely.

Nearby him and Sarah stood a man with grey hair, deep-set eyes and a silver tie. He was talking to a bald, dark-skinned man who had a white pocket square. Slightly further away was another cluster of three; a younger dark-skinned man with no tie; a shorter, pale man with dark brown hair that fell into his eyes and a blue tie; and a blonde woman wearing a short-sleeved, high backed dress.

Sam scanned the room once more, and did a double take. Dean was talking to an attractive young woman with long, red hair. As Sam stared, Dean looked over at him, then beckoned for him to join them. Sam sighed through his teeth. The sound made Sarah look up at him.   
“Sam?”  
“Dean’s socialising. He wants us to join him.” Sam said, voice flat.   
“Then let’s go.”   
Sam stared at the floor.  
Suddenly Sarah was weaving her arm through his. “Come on, Sam, it’s not that bad.” She whispered, tugging him gently across the room. At the feel of her fingers on his arm, Sam relaxed slightly and let her steer him towards his brother.

“Sam,” Dean greeted him, face just as blank as the doorman’s. “Sarah.”   
_If he was still mad at Sarah for whatever reason_ , Sam thought, _at least there’s no way to tell_. Sam fought to keep all emotion off his face, just like everyone else. “Dean.”  
“Sam, this is Anna.”  
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Anna.”  
“And I, yours, Sam.”  
Sam nodded. Even though her face was just as impassive as everyone else’s, she actually seemed vaguely pleased. Sam relaxed a little. Just the slightest hint of emotion, even as bland as this, made the room seem a bit less sterile. More human.

Anna and Dean kept up the small talk for the next few minutes. Sarah seemed content to stand and listen, with her arm through Sam’s, which Sam had no complaints about. All the same, he went back to looking at the reflections in the windows. The sooner this night was over, the better.

He watched the black figures in the glass, flitting in and out like shadows. Black shoes, black pants, black jackets, black dresses, blue scarves… _Blue scarves?_ Just for an instant, Sam swore he had seen a flash of blue. Whether it was a reflection, or outside the glass, he couldn’t be sure. Sarah felt Sam stiffen, and tugged gently on his sleeve, silently asking what was wrong. Sam just gave a small shake of his head. Nothing was wrong. He must have imagined the scarf. The stress of everything must have been getting to him more than usual.

Not that this was usual.

Sam tried to slow his breathing, letting his gaze wander over the other ‘mourners’. Then something caught his attention. It was the blonde woman, who was facing the other way, speaking quietly with the shorter, brown-haired man. Sam thought he saw some black lines etched into the skin of her upper back, over her shoulder blades, just poking out from the edges of her dress. Frowning ever so slightly, Sam tried to figure out what the rest of the tattoo would be.

When he realized, it felt like his veins were instantly flooded with ice. He stopped breathing all together.

Sam turned to his brother, urgency on every inch of his face. He glanced at the red-headed girl, Anna, then figured it didn’t matter if she heard. After all, being a dealer, she was in as much trouble as they were.

“Dean” Sam hissed, “Angel.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised infinitesimally. “Cas?” He breathed.

“What? _Castiel?_ What are you talking about?” Sam whispered back.

“You know Castiel?” Anna whispered, her eyes lighting up.

“ _What?_ ” hissed Sam. “No. I mean, yeah, but no. Wait. Dean, the blonde woman. _I think she’s an angel.”_

Dean’s face went completely blank, and Sarah gasped and tightened her grip on Sam’s arm. She looked scared. _At least this wasn’t a setup,_ Sam thought to himself, squeezing her hand for just a second, trying to comfort her. Dean spoke quickly, voice low. “Let’s get the hell out of here right now. Move slowly to the doors, like nothing has changed. If anyone panics, we won’t make it out alive. Anna, come with us. We can get you out of here.” Anna simply nodded.

The four of them wandered to the door. Sam put all his concentration into slowing his steps, while his body was screaming at him to grab Sarah and Dean, and run. He almost walked straight into the older, bald, dark-skinned man he had noticed earlier. The man that was now standing in front of the main door.

“Evening,” the man began. “Where do you think you’re going? The commemoration has barely started.”

“We’ve got some business we need to get back to.” Dean growled.

“No, I don’t think you do, Dean.” The man smirked. “My name is Uriel.”

Uriel. An _angel_. Sam thought he might be sick.

Then Uriel reached inside his jacket and withdrew a slender, shining blade.

But Anna was faster. Out of nowhere she was suddenly holding her own, identical blade.  
Then she buried it in Uriel’s chest.

A light flashed from behind his eyes, then flickered and went out. Anna yanked out the blade and let the body fall to the polished, white floor, then she ran over to the door, red hair flying, and typed in the code. The door slid open.  
“Go, leave, and don’t come back.” She ordered. “And take care of Castiel.”

Then she was gone.

Sam looked towards Sarah and Dean, who were both looking at him. Without a word, they turned and sprinted out the door.

Behind them, someone yelled. More voices joined in. They were getting closer.

Sam, Dean, and Sarah tried to run faster towards their ship, gasping for air, not even pausing to turn around, terror making their feet fly.

As they ran, they heard the yelling behind them turn to screams. They heard thumps that could only be lifeless bodies falling to the ground. Had Anna come back to protect them? They hardly knew her.

The trio didn’t stop running, and didn’t look back until they reached their ship.

Panting heavily, trying to draw the polluted air into their oxygen-starved lungs, they peered desperately into the darkness, dreading what might come after them before they got the door open.

A single figure emerged out of the black, running towards them, blood dripping from a shining blade in his hand, and a blue scarf around his neck.

Sam, Dean and Sarah froze.

_Castiel?_

“Castiel!” Sam’s voice was strangled, caught in his throat. What the hell was happening?

Castiel was yelling. “Go, get on the ship! THEY ARE COMING!”

That was all the warning it took. Dean and Castiel ran straight to the main controls, while Sam and Sarah shut and locked the cargo door, keeping an eye out for anyone else that might come running out of the dark. Cas had said there were others coming, but so far the ground around their ship had remained clear.

In a matter of minutes Dean was taking off. Sam grabbed Sarah’s hand as they escaped the earth’s smoky atmosphere, his heart racing. They were alive. Cas was still here. They even still had the money from the deal. Maybe later Castiel could explain what the hell happened at the deal gathering. Maybe he would tell them who Anna was.

Sarah turned towards Sam, then wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. He clung to her. _They were alive._

The emptiness of space never looked so inviting.  
  
  
  
  



	8. Moondance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just wanted to thank you all for the positive responses! I really appreciate it. I'm having a lot of fun writing it. But really, writing belongs to the readers, to each of you guys, who imagine it in your own way. So I hope you enjoy it. ^_^

**\- 8 –**

Sarah kept her arms wrapped around Sam as the ship took off. He held her tightly, but not tightly enough. She still felt vulnerable. Still in the line of fire, even as they left the danger on the ground below.

Leaning on Sam, she could hear his heart thudding in his chest. Too fast, just like her own. The way they had stood at the door as it closed… what had they planned on doing if an Angel _had_ burst out of the darkness? Fight it? They couldn’t take on an Angel by themselves. That was… Suicide. But somehow, Castiel had saved them.

Sarah shuddered as the picture flashed through her mind. Castiel running at them, blood dripping from the blade in his hand, blue scarf flapping at his neck, and the look on his face… He usually hid all of his emotion, but in that instant Sarah saw everything. The terror, the desperation, the anger. Wild animals writhing together beneath the surface, twisting and clawing his face into that mask that roared at them from the dark. _They are coming._

The Angels were after them now. Would they ever stop chasing them? Sarah felt sick. She never should have agreed to take Castiel… but without him, they would all be dead now. It was such a mess. And it was her fault. She bit her lip, tried to swallow the lump in her throat and blink away the stinging in her eyes. Crying wasn’t going to help anything. They weren’t even safe yet.

Sarah swallowed again, trying to find her voice, but she couldn’t manage more than a whisper.   
“Sam?”

“Yeah?” She could hear his voice reverberate around his chest.

“Where are we going?”

“I think Dean’s backup plan was to fly to the Ultima Thule space station.”

“Oh.” Sarah had no idea where that was. She’d never even heard of it. But that meant it was probably a perfect place to hide.

Sam let out a huff of air that could almost have been a laugh. “Basically it’s far away, abandoned, and really isolated. It’s about as safe as we can get right now.”

Sarah just nodded, rather than attempt to talk again. They stood together, arms around each other, until their heartbeats slowed.

Sam let go first. Sarah loosened her arms in response, and Sam took a few steps back, sweeping his hair out of his eyes and looking at her. “I’m going to have a shower and try to get some sleep. Will you be okay?” Again, Sarah nodded. Sam seemed unconvinced, but he didn’t know what else to do. He ran his hand through his hair one more time, sighed “okay”, then walked towards his room without looking back.

It took a couple of minutes before Sarah could bring herself to move from her spot by the door, but eventually the idea of comfy clothes and bed won out over her shaking legs. The ship wasn’t very big, but the walk to her room had never felt so long.

She wandered without really taking in her surroundings, somehow making it to her room and finding an oversized jumper and a pair of track pants, before crossing to the cramped bathroom to undo her hair. As she pulled out the hair pins, her fingers trembled. She couldn’t stop the scenes from that night from playing on repeat in her mind. They were so vivid. Still so fresh, so real, that her heart raced and she could feel the fear twist in her gut.

Sarah pulled out the last pin and sighed. There was no way she would be able to sleep now, but there were so many hours of nothing as they hurtled through space, searching for safety.

She left her room, feet moving almost of their own accord, drawing her towards the shelves and boxes that filled the small room next to her own. There, among the books and music and paintings, she could escape the long hours that lay ahead. Maybe they would give her the illusion of safety, if only for a little while.

     *     *     *

Sam, feeling slightly better after changing from his tux into some old track pants and a dark blue t-shirt, paced the line from his bed to the door for the twenty-eighth time. His head was spinning. What the hell happened back there? He noticed a tattoo on that blonde woman’s back and suddenly everything shattered into fragments of fear, adrenaline, confusion and danger. Sam fought to understand, but there were too many pieces and he couldn’t make them fit together. That Angel, Uriel, who knew Dean’s name. The red-haired Angel, who seemed to know Castiel and helped them escape by killing another Angel. Then the running, and the screaming from the dark behind them.

Was everyone at that damn place an Angel?

He reached his bed and turned again. Thirty.

Angel. _Angel._ Sam never thought he would use the word. Now it ricocheted around his mind until his head ached. _How could they be real? They were a story. A rumour started to scare people._ He paced faster, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

Thirty two.

There was something else, too. When Sam whispered to Dean, warning him that there was an Angel, Dean had replied _“Cas?”_ And that red haired Angel, Anna, knew him. Said to keep him safe. Was Castiel an Angel too? The name would make sense, but… They let a Goddamn Angel on their ship? If Dean knew, why did he let him stay? Unless…

Sam froze. Was that why Dean made Castiel leave the ship –because he found out that Castiel was an _Angel?_ And, clearly, that little piece of information wasn’t worth sharing with Sam. He felt a strong urge to hit something. He must have been the only one who didn’t know.

Sarah must have known. She knew she was bringing an Angel onto their ship. But she looked terrified when Sam told them the blonde woman was an Angel. So even though she knew about Castiel, and she got them to the deal, Sam couldn’t believe she had anything to do with the danger they ended up in. The danger they were now running from.

Sam pressed his palms against his closed eyes until little white lights popped in the darkness. What the hell was going on?

He needed some answers. Opening his door, Sam wandered out into the corridor, with every intention of waking Sarah and demand she explain as much as she could. He raised a fist to knock on her door, but stopped. What was that sound? Sam lowered his arm and edged towards the door of the storeroom. There was music coming from inside. It was only quiet, but it was strange to hear on their ship in the middle of the night, especially after running for their lives because of music and art.

Sam found himself leaning towards the door, straining to listen to the instruments that seemed to be falling over one another. He’d never heard anything like it. So with curiosity slowly replacing the anger and confusion filling his chest, Sam reached out and opened the door.

Sarah sat cross legged on the floor, a CD player by her side and a book in her lap. She didn’t even look up until Sam cleared his throat.

Her mouth fell open. She abruptly shut her book, and leaned over to stop the music.

“No,” Sam said, reaching out a hand. “No, leave it on.”

Sarah’s hand hovered over the CD player, eyes still on Sam as he stepped into the room and closed the door.

“What do you want, Sam? What are you doing here?”

Sam smiled a little. “I want a lot of things. Some answers would be a good start. As for being here… well, I could ask you the same thing.”

That earned him a small smirk and nod from Sarah, and she lowered her hand, tilting her head slightly. “What sort of answers?”

Sam chewed on his lower lip, wondering what to ask first.

“Castiel. He’s an Angel. Why did you start travelling with him?”

Sarah laughed, brief and without humour. “Okay, jumping in the deep end.” She looked down at her lap, where she twisted her fingers together.

Finally she nodded towards the CD player. “Ever heard jazz music before?”

Sam shook his head. Where was this going? Was she going to answer his question or was she avoiding it?

But she kept talking. “My father used to love jazz. He gave me this CD when I turned sixteen.” Sam watched as her eyes grew distant. Slowly, he moved towards her and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs in the same way that she did, settling in to listen to her story.

“My father was an art dealer. My mother was a government worker until she met him. They ran away together, lived on a space ship, jumping between planets and space stations. And they had me. They taught me everything I know about dealing, and when I was old enough, I started running my own deals.”

Sarah paused, tucking a strand of dark hair behind one ear and frowning at the floor.   
“But I guess you can only run for so long. I went down to earth one day, to make a sale, and while I was there our ship exploded. Both my parents were inside. There’s no way they could have survived. They say it was an accident, a problem with the engine, but my parents couldn’t have blown up their own ship by _accident._ It was the government. They were killed because they were dealers.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam mumbled.

“It’s not your fault.” Sarah continued. “Anyway I ran. I wasn’t going to keep dealing, not after that. But Castiel found me. I knew what he was, but he offered to wipe my government records and protect me as best he could, if I let him travel with me. Turns out he was running, too. And now we’re all running together.”

Sam couldn’t think of anything to say, so he stared at the ground and let the jazz music fill the silence. Sarah laughed, louder this time. “What, no more intense questions?”

Sam grinned, nodding towards the book in her lap. “What’s it about?”

Sarah turned the book over in her hands. The cover was blue, but extremely faded so Sam couldn’t make out a title or author. It was dog-eared and torn, and the pages fanned out as though the book had been opened far too many times, and now it wouldn’t stay completely closed.

Sarah ran a finger down the book’s wrinkled spine.   
“I don’t know who wrote it, since some of the pages were ripped out before my mother gave it to me. I’ve carried it around ever since. Probably really dangerous, I know, but it’s such an amazing storyline. So much emotion…” Sarah’s voice faded as she ran a thumb over the corner of the book. Suddenly she looked up at Sam and tossed him the book.   
“Read it. Don’t lose it. And don’t cry too much.”

Sam laughed, picking up the book from where it landed in his lap. The edges of the pages were soft from the amount of times they had been turned. “Um, okay.”

Standing up, Sarah held out a hand to Sam. “Now I have a question for you, Sam.” Leaving the book on the floor, Sam took her hand and stood up, smiling.

“Have you ever danced?”

The smile fell away from Sam’s face in an instant. “What?”

“Oh come on, it’s not that hard. This is the perfect song. Let’s dance. Come _on,_ Sam. Fine, we’ll just sway.” She tugged Sam’s left hand to her waist, grabbed his right hand in her left, then plopped her right hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“It’s easy. Okay, to your left. Now step to your right. And back. And we’re turning.” She laughed, real laughter now, a sparkling sound that made Sam want to laugh too.

“See, Sam? We’re dancing!”

And Sam did laugh.

A voice rose from the CD player, overlapping the smooth swinging of the instruments.

_Well it’s a wonderful night for a moondance, with the stars up above in your eyes…_

Sarah inched closer to Sam, pulling their clasped hands into their chests, and Sam found his hand slipping from Sarah’s waist to her lower back. Their bodies pressed together and moved in unison as they stepped from side to side, in time with the music that swung its way around the room, swelling as it tumbled towards the chorus.

_And all the night’s magic seems to whisper and hush, and all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush… Can I have just one more moondance with you, my love, can I just make some more romance with you, my love…_

And for a few minutes, it didn’t matter that they were running for their lives. It didn’t matter that the music they were dancing to, or the fact that they were dancing, was illegal. It didn’t matter that they were being chased by Angels.

For a few minutes, they had the perfect distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay romantic crap. It had to happen at some point. I know it's a slightly shorter chapter, but I think that's an appropriate place to pause -otherwise I might never have gotten this chapter posted.


	9. Blue Skies

**-9-**

It was the middle of the night before they were far enough away to feel safe. They had left the earth and its solar system far behind, heading for the most desolate area they knew: the abandoned Ultima Thule space station.

Even after they reached their destination, Dean remained at the controls. The last time he had spoken to Cas, it involved a knife, yelling, and an order to leave the ship. Then Cas turned up and saved their lives.

_How the hell do you start a conversation after that?_

So they sat, staring out the window at the endless black occasionally punctured with a lonely white star, without saying anything. Dean wasn’t in any hurry to kick Castiel off their ship again; after all, if there were Angels after them now, it wouldn’t hurt to have an ex-angel on their side.

As the minutes passed, the silence stopped feeling awkward. It faded and merged into something much more comfortable, as though each man understood that neither knew what to say, and were happy to wait and let each other sort through their thoughts until they were ready.

Castiel spoke first.  
“I am sorry for not telling you, Dean.”

Dean didn’t look at Cas, but nodded slowly.  
“Yeah, Cas, um… Me too. I mean… I get why you did it. It was just… I wasn’t expecting it.”

They sat for a few more minutes, until Dean felt the silence begin to press down on him again, and felt the need to break it.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Thanks for, uh, for the thing back there. Y’know, saving our asses.”

“You are welcome, Dean. I am happy that you and your… asses… are safe.”

Dean tried to hide his laugh with a cough, failed dismally, and finally looked up at Castiel.  
“How did you do that, anyway? There were nearly a dozen of them in there.”

“I thought you might ask. It was essentially a flash bomb, but designed to specifically affect Angels.”

Dean frowned, pursing his lips. “How can a bomb just affect Angels, and not everyone else?”

A humourless smile spread over Castiel’s face.  
“You humans aren’t very far off with your superhuman theory.”

Dean stood up slowly, leaning against the central control panel. This conversation wasn’t exactly going the way he expected, and he wasn’t sure he was following. “Wait, so you’re telling me that you’re not human?”

“In a way.” Castiel became serious. “When we first met I said I was raised in a facility. Do you remember?”  
Dean nodded slowly, crossing his arms, eager to hear Cas’ explanation of the Angels, who used to be no more than a terrifying rumour, and were now completely tangled up in everything.  
“Well, in that facility, when we were very young, they slightly altered our genetic code. Altered it so that our emotions are more supressed than normal humans, and so we possess speed, strength, and certain qualities that may exceed the usual human capabilities. But there were some flaws. Only small errors, a few different base pairs, which the developers overlooked. Or perhaps ignored. This… flash bomb… that I used, it contains a chemical that, when coupled with other intense stimuli, such as a loud noise or bright light, can render an Angel unconscious.”

“So like Kryptonite for Superman?”

“I do not understand.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Of course you don’t. So where did you learn that little party trick?”

Castiel’s face fell, and his voice was rough. “An old friend. Her name was Meg.”

“Meg?”

“I do not want to talk about it.”

Dean bit his lip, and made a mental note to find out about this Meg chick later. For now he was happy to let it go, because another thought had occurred to him.  
“So why didn’t if affect you?”

Castiel frowned. “The alterations to my genetic code were not completely successful. Apparently I am immune.”

Dean grinned. “So you’re better than all those other Angels?”  
Castiel shook his head. “No, Dean. Far from it. Some of them don’t even consider me an Angel. Despite my training, I lack the speed and strength of the other Angels. And I _feel_ …” Castiel lapsed into silence, staring at the ground.

“So you _are_ better than them.”

Blue eyes flashed up to meet green, and Castiel looked confused. “Dean, I am lesser in every aspect. I do not understand why being able to _feel_ is advantageous in any way.”

Dean’s mouth fell open. “Cas, it doesn’t matter that you can’t run as fast or hit as hard as those other emotionally constipated jerks. That’s not what really counts.”

“I am afraid I don’t follow you, Dean.”

“Come on, Cas. I know I’m not exactly the poster child for emotional outlets, but I would choose being able to feel emotion over superhuman strength or speed any day.”

Castiel squinted at Dean, “That sounds very masochistic.”

“It what now?” Dean blinked.

“Masochistic, Dean. Emotion… it is so much pain.”

Dean lowered his arms and stepped closer to Castiel. Was that all the emotion he had experienced? What the hell had happened in that facility? Was this what he was running from?

“Cas…” Dean stepped forward, then stopped and turned to the door. “Cas, come here, I want to show you something.”

     *     *     *

Castiel obediently followed Dean out of the control room and along the top corridor, but stopped when they reached the door to Dean’s room.

“Dean, why are we-“

“Just trust me, Cas.”

Castiel’s face scrunched into a squinting frown, which Dean pretended to ignore as he held the door open. Despite his expression, Castiel walked into Dean’s room, stopping in the centre and gazing around. Dean shut the door behind him, and went straight to the cd player. He spoke over his shoulder. “Just do me a favour, and don’t tell Sammy what music we’re listening, okay?”

“If you say so, Dean.”

Dean pressed play, and a single piano picked out a sad tune, sounding slightly fuzzy coming through the old speakers. Castiel turned away from Dean, facing a blank wall. He wasn’t used to music, how it threaded its way into your brain and made you _feel…_ A male voice rose softly into the room, and Cas shivered.

_Turn around._

It was joined by a female singer, who spoke of loneliness and tears. Castiel closed his eyes. The way the melodies intertwined, almost tangible… the way the music could make you feel emotion that wasn’t yours… it was addictive. Another voice joined in, this one from behind him, clear over the crackle of the cd player.

“ _Turn around, bright eyes.”_

Castiel felt a hand slip into his, and Dean sang again into his ear.

“ _Turn around, bright eyes.”_

The music built, a sharper drum joining it. The noise… no, _noise_ was such a harsh word. It was such a fluid sound, the way it crept down his spine and curled around his chest.

A hand was suddenly cradling his face, and Castiel opened his eyes. Dean was in front of him, looking concerned.

“Cas, I know there’s a hell of a lot of pain out there. I can’t even begin to imagine what sort of shit you’ve been through. But there’s good stuff too. You’ve never felt anything good? Anything made you happy?”

Castiel shook his head, shifting away from Dean, and looked down.  
  
“Dean, before I got on this ship, my life revolved around killing people. There wasn’t much to be happy about.”

Dean’s face fell, then suddenly he wrapped his arms around Castiel, tight, constricting, but strangely comforting. Cas let his arms hang by his side, unsure of what to do, or why the cage Dean’s arms formed around his chest felt so safe, when he knew he should feel fear, or even disgust. But he buried his face in the leather jacket Dean wore, breathing it in. He just let Dean hold him and sing quietly into his ear as the music exploded from the tiny speakers.

“ _And if you’ll only hold me tight we’ll be holding on forever, and we’ll only be making it right, ‘cause we’ll never be wrong together…”_

Dean’s arms relaxed, releasing Castiel too soon. But his hands moved back to Cas’ face.

“Cas… There is so much more to _feeling._ But I can’t just explain it. That’s why there used to be so much music and poetry around –no one’s described them perfectly yet. It’s impossible.” The music continued behind Dean’s voice, building, desperate and beautiful, like a symphony of colours flying off the edge of a cliff. Cas swore he could feel the sparks the singer mentioned, bouncing around in his chest.

_I really need you tonight._

Dean’s eyes were wide, the green so bright and clear, with small brown flecks catching the light and turning gold.

_Forever’s gonna start tonight._

“Dean, wha-“the question on Castiel’s lips was crushed beneath Dean’s mouth.

_Forever’s gonna start tonight._

Cas froze, eyes open, as he tried to process what was happening, until Dean twisted a hand into Castiel’s hair and he forced Castiel’s lips apart with his own. Castiel’s eyes closed and a small sigh escaped his chest. His breath joined with Dean’s and tangled between their tongues.

Cas finally lifted his arms and snaked them around Dean’s waist. Dean responded by brushing his tongue over Castiel’s lower lip, before breaking away with a gasp and resting his forehead against Castiel’s.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“That made me happy.”

Dean laughed. Castiel could feel his chest shaking, and when Dean lifted his head he was smiling.

Even after Dean’s laughter subsided, the smile lingered around his lips. Castiel found himself staring, realizing after a few seconds that Dean was staring too. Cas squinted and moved his hands to rest on Dean’s hips.

“Dean? What is it?”

“Oh, uh, nothing Cas… It’s just…”

Castiel tilted his head to the side, waiting for Dean to finish. Dean sighed.

“Your eyes, Cas. They’re so blue. I was just thinking… uh… d’you think that’s the colour the sky used to be?”

“Perhaps, Dean. I never saw it.”

“Well, yeah, I know, but…” Dean lowered a hand from Cas’ face and twisted his fingers between Castiel’s. “I used to think it would be strange to see the sky that colour. But now…”

Castiel lifted his hand -still intertwined with Dean’s- and rested it on Dean’s chest, looking at their tangled fingers, the image equally dangerous and fascinating. Dean looked at their hands for a moment, then back up to Cas, before he finished speaking, green eyes sparkling, a small smile tucked into one corner of his mouth.

“I think that if the sky was the same colour as your eyes, I could get used to it.”

Then it was Dean’s turn to be caught off guard as Castiel’s mouth pressed against his own. As they kissed, Dean felt Cas’ lips curve into a smile.


	10. Cold stars, Hot Coffee and Small Comforts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive break between updates! Life got in the way. Hopefully I can finish this soon. And yes, I did swap around chapters 8 and 9 -they weren't posted in the right order. Thanks for bearing with me!

**\- 10 –**

Dean stirred milk powder into the two mugs of hot brown liquid, breathing deep. God, he loved the smell of coffee. He and Sam couldn’t afford it most of the time. The bitter drink was a rare commodity, and they tried to ration what little they had.

Picking up both mugs and trying not to burn his fingers, Dean wandered the corridors in search of Castiel. He had a pretty good idea where the guy would be. Opening the door to the main control room proved to be a little awkward, though. After a few failed attempts at punching in door codes with his elbow, Dean gave up and set one mug of coffee on the floor. When the door finally slid open, sure enough, there was Cas, sitting completely still, staring out the window.

Dean walked over, placed a mug of coffee by the other man and sat down beside him. Castiel merely nodded his thanks and picked it up, then returned to his observation of the star-studded space in front of them. Dean kicked his feet up onto the control panel. He picked up his own mug and the two simply sat, staring out the window in companionable quiet.

Halfway through his coffee, Dean cleared his throat.

“I don’t think they care, y’know.”

Castiel blinked, turning towards Dean at the unexpected statement. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

Dean tilted his cup towards the darkness before them. “The stars, Cas. We’ve been here for days, and you spend all this time just staring at them.”

“I know, Dean.” Castiel squinted, attempting figure out what the other man was trying to say. He knew he had been staring at the stars. He had been the one doing it.

“So, why do you do it?” Dean gestured loosely at the sky before them. “Why do you look at them all the time? I don’t think they give a damn what happens to us –why would they? We don’t matter to them. We could die and they’ll just sit and watch. So why do you spend all this time watching things that couldn’t give two craps about us?”

Turning back to the window, Castiel brought his coffee to his lips and said nothing. Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “Come on man, what’s with the mysterious silence all the time?”

“I am not mysterious, Dean, I simply have nothing to say.”

“I don’t get it, Cas. You’ve hardly said anything since that Angel showdown. Aren’t you worried? Or angry? Anything?”

Castiel sighed, resting his cup on his knee. “Dean, the way I was trained… Emotion is the very basis of humanity. It is what the angels were supposed to suppress in the human race. To feel what other angels do not… it’s very conflicting.”

“Conflicting how?”

It was Castiel’s turn to roll his eyes. “Conflicting in that I was –am- guilty of the very thing I was made to eliminate. I am a living contradiction, Dean.”

“Yeah? Who told you that?”

Castiel dropped his eyes at once, suddenly extremely interested in the flecks of milk powder that swirled in his coffee. “An old friend.”

Dean leaned closer. “Another Angel?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

Sighing, Castiel dragged his eyes away from his cup to look over at Dean. “Her name was Meg. What she was, is of no consequence.”

Dean lowered his feet from the control panel. “Was?”

“She is presumed dead. I do not know how what became of her.”

“Okay then,” Dean twisted his fingers through the handle of his coffee cup, “who was she?”

Castiel returned to staring out the window, speaking quietly. “I suppose you could say she was a rebel. I met her on one of my solo patrols. I had no orders regarding her, so we talked. And, as she spoke, I began to doubt.

Doubt, I soon found, is an infection that spreads quickly. We arranged to meet and speak again, and Meg gave me more information about the red districts, the places we Angels had heard nothing of. As I heard more, I felt more, Dean. And I felt fear for my life. So when Meg offered an escape route, I took it. I believed the other Angels would kill me if I stayed.”

Dean was frowning down at his now luke-warm coffee. “What happened to Meg?”

“We planned to leave the city two days apart –it was too suspicious to go together. I was to leave first. She gave me a book and coordinates where we would meet, but there was a riot from an adjacent red district only hours after my escape. The Angels took many lives that day. When she never turned up at our meeting point, I assumed the Angels had killed her too.”

Standing up, Dean moved to Castiel’s side and rested a hand on his shoulder. Cas sighed, and after a moment shrugged free of Dean’s touch. “Thank you for the coffee.” he muttered.

Dean knew it was an indication for him to leave, but he wanted to know Cas was okay. So he slid his hand down to wrap around Castiel’s fingers and waited. Eventually Cas looked up. His blue eyes were cool and distant. “Dean…” he said, voice low.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean responded, briefly squeezing his fingers tight.

“I do not want you to share her fate, but I fear that if I stay, you will also die.”

Dean laughed and let his hand fall to his side. “You can’t get rid of me that easy. Anyway, I’m off to bed.” He turned to the door. Cas would be fine, and now was not the time for some deep emotional revelation.

“Just one more thing, Cas. What was the book?” Castiel twisted in his seat to look at Dean. “I believe it is a play, rather than a regular book. It is titled ‘Hamlet’, by a man named William Shakespeare.”

Dean shrugged as he left the room. “Never heard of the guy.”

Castiel listened to the man’s footsteps echo down the corridor, then turned back to the window and the tiny, blinking stars that punctured the deep black of space. He tried to ignore Dean’s words, but they wormed their way inside his brain in such a way that the more he tried to ignore them, the louder they seemed to become. _I don’t think they give a damn what happens to us_ … _We don’t matter to them…_. _We could die and they’ll just sit and watch… Why do you spend all this time watching things that couldn’t give two craps about us?”_

Sipping his cold coffee, Castiel let the words fold around him. That was what made humanity different. The ability to care. Because he knew, now. If Sarah, or Sam, or Dean died, he couldn’t just sit and watch. Not anymore.

*     *     *    

A few hours later, Dean woke to the sound of his door opening. Feet shuffled in, and the door closed. Dean slid a hand down the side of his bed, fingers searching for his gun, heart racing.

“Dean?”

“Jesus, Cas, you scared the hell outta me.” Dean’s words were slurred with sleep. “I was gonna shoot you!”

“My apologies. Although I don’t think you could have shot me-”

“Don’t start. What do you want?”

He heard Castiel walk towards the bed.

“Dean, what you said earlier… I don’t think the stars care either.”

Dean groaned. Why couldn’t they have this conversation in the morning? “So, Cas? Why is that so urgent that you gotta tell me in the middle of the night?”

“Because we are not stars, Dean. I am not like them.”

Rubbing his eyes, Dean sighed. The last thing he wanted was a riddle. “And?”

“We are not stars, we are human, or in my case at least a close approximation. So we can watch others and care about them. Or, as you so eloquently put this evening, we can give two craps.”

There was an awkward pause, and Dean heard Castiel move, though he couldn’t pinpoint where.

“I would give a damn if you died.”

Dean didn’t say a word. Honestly, he was too tired to figure out what the hell was going on. Better to just make agreeing noises until Cas finished whatever he wanted to talk about.

“I care about you, Dean.”

Dean froze. Suddenly the covers lifted and –shit, Cas was climbing into bed next to him. “Cas, what’re you- oh.” Castiel had wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and shuffled close. And Castiel was warm, and that arm was comforting, and Dean was tired, and Cas pressed his forehead to Dean’s. “What the hell,” Dean muttered, “just one night.”

Cas listened as Dean’s breathing slowed, like his own. He felt better, now that he knew Dean was safe. What he had realized, over coffee and stars, was the risk of caring. The risk of losing what you cared for. In his case, it was the life of the man next to him, and the risks were all too high. He agreed with Dean’s sleepy mumble. _Just one night._ He could keep him safe for just one night.

“I won’t let them kill you.” Castiel said quietly into the darkness. But Dean was already asleep.


End file.
